


Chilblains

by XMorningStarStillFallingX



Series: Cold Related Injuries [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 11, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, He also probably has anxiety, Lucifer Redemption, Lucifer thinks he's funny, M/M, Sarcastic Sam Winchester, Wing Grooming, Wingfic, Wings, i really love these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:27:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22156267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XMorningStarStillFallingX/pseuds/XMorningStarStillFallingX
Summary: Some things never change (AKA prideful archangels would never dream of waltzing into battle with ungroomed wings.)
Relationships: Lucifer & Sam Winchester, Lucifer/Sam Winchester
Series: Cold Related Injuries [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594735
Kudos: 99





	Chilblains

**Author's Note:**

> Well, the urge to write fanfic hit randomly once again so here is some more Samifer. This is a three part series, and considering that I posted the first one like 2 years ago and only ever really get around to writing these ideas when inspiration really strikes, it'll be a miracle if I ever finish the 3rd part. And yet, I do have it partially written so anything is possible and I might even have it finished next week? Who knows. 
> 
> Anyways, if you've not read the first one, go read the first one. If you have, thank you for sticking around and yay, here's the second part! As always, thank you for reading, comments and feedback are always much appreciated! Enjoy! :)

One more war to end all wars. No matter how many apocalypses the Winchesters had faced previously it didn’t make the next one to come along any easier to prepare for; least of all when they were sharing the bunker with God and the literal Devil. And so this week was, as to be expected, one of the more stressful ones of their lives. It was what had the clock reading half past 9 when Sam Winchester was slipping out of bed, crinkling his toes against the cold floor, and rubbing sleep away from still heavy eyes. 

Most wouldn’t call that sleeping in, but extremely early to rise had always been Sam’s thing and usually he was up by 7. It was just, well, the past few weeks had been downright exhausting, even for him. The hunter stretched, lanky limbs uncoiling as he puffed out a sigh and grabbed a t shirt to tug over his head. 

He was promptly running a hand through his rather frumpy bedhead, no need to check a mirror when he could feel it askew and he knew a hand through it wouldn’t help straighten it out by much. The Winchester at least hoped he would look less like some sort of rooster. He would take care of it shortly, but first he was on the hunt for – not monsters – but coffee and a bite to eat, before he would head to the showers. Some part of Sam really hoped Chuck had made pancakes again, or something else, the Other’s cooking was, well, divine. 

It was a rather large clatter and a few expletives from the library that had him pausing his trek down the hall. He half expected it to have been Dean. The hunter certainly hadn’t expected it to be a certain newly resident archangel. The hunter absolutely certainly hadn’t expected it to be that archangel with two rather ridiculously large wings. 

Sam was blinking.

Lucifer, still inhabiting Castiel’s vessel, didn’t even really notice that Sam was currently leaning up against the doorframe. Rather, the archangel was too focused on what he was doing. And what he was doing was scooping up a pile of books that had been haphazardly stacked atop a table, face scrunched up in irritation. If Sam had to wager a guess, one of the wings protruding from the archangel's back was probably what had knocked the materials down in the first place. Lucifer was puffing a pesky fringe of hair out of his eyes as he straightened back up, heaping the pile of books back where they had originally been. 

And that was one difference between the archangel and Castiel. No matter them wearing the same vessel, Lucifer seemed always just a tad bit more disheveled than his baby brother, exuding an odd air in all of his movements; something between regal and like his bones were screwed together just a little bit too loose.  
Sam tilted his head slightly, wary to intrude and still taking in the sight of wings: bright, pink, huge, and iridescent (nearly sparkling, dare he even think that thought in the vicinity of the archangel in question) wings. He couldn't help but clear his throat, tentatively.

And apparently he really hadn’t been noticed, because at that sound Lucifer was whipping his head in the direction of the other, blinking and looking like he just got caught with his hands in the cookie jar or something.

“Oh, hiya Sammy. Don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of knocking?” he greeted after the moment of pause in which one could nearly see the gears of ‘how should I react to this situation’ turning behind bright blue eyes. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again, thinking of whatever it was he was about to say, head tilting just ever so slightly as he regarded the Winchester. 

The Winchester who Lucifer hadn’t really realized had been standing there for an indefinite amount of time while he had been engrossed with attempting to groom his wings which was slightly embarrassing if they could be seen by humans, and quite odd if they couldn’t be. And so, well, that was awkward.

“Ah…yeah. Hi…Lucifer.” the other responded, shifting on his feet some to straighten up his posture. And here Sam was at half past nine in the morning having a casual conversation with the Devil. There was another moment of palpable silence. Lucifer shifted on his feet slightly, hands tapping at the corners of the books he had stacked haphazardly, moving them into a bit more organized and stable of a stack. Sam was shaking his head.

“Lucifer. It’s the library.” he tacked on after a moment at the knocking comment. The archangel rolled his eyes.

“Well, I’m in the middle of something in the library and etiquette says you should kno-” 

“I’m sorry your, Lucifer are those your wings? I knew angels had wings but I’ve never seen…I always assumed people just couldn't see…are they pink?” Sam couldn’t help but sputter. It had the archangel pausing all over again, not entirely sure what to say to that. He looked at Sam, then swiveled his head back to his wings, then looked at Sam again. 

“You can see them?” he asked. And yes, the answer was rather obvious with the reaction he was receiving from the other. Because the Winchester had just stated as much, and even if he hadn’t the ridiculously almost starstruck look to his eyes would’ve spelled it out pretty easily. The way he was being looked at would almost be flattering if he hadn’t been entirely unprepared for another living being to be seeing his wings before he had fixed them up. Or, rather, groomed them for the first time in a long time. 

It was battle tradition. Just as some tribes wore war paint, and human soldiers marched in their haughty uniforms, angels had a tendency to meticulously groom wings before going into battle. He hadn’t had the time, nor had he felt up to it, back when his prize fight was supposed to take place. Being put up to a deathmatch with a brother you very much did not want to kill didn’t exactly get the blood of battle pumping after all.

“They’re, yeah, I can see them Lucifer.” Sam confirmed, eyes wandering over the feathered appendages. He only paused when he noticed that Lucifer was plucking absently at a feather, fiddling.

And it wasn’t Lucifer’s fault if this exchange was making him feel a bit, well, the archangel would probably never admit to being self conscious but he sure was prideful, and he wasn’t exactly finished with his grooming. Who was he kidding. His wings were a literal mess. Even messier in the places that caused him to knock over piles of poorly placed books when he was stretching for the worst of the tangles in his feathers.

“I’m sorry, is this weird? Am I making this weird? I’m making this weird.” the Winchester amended, hands out in front of him defensively, getting a bit twitchy himself. Because he literally had no idea if he had just crossed some kind of a weird line into angel taboo or what.

“Hmm. Little bit, yeah.” Lucifer answered dryly, brows arching up. 

Sam could feel the flush creeping up his neck at that answer.

“Sorry!” he apologized.

Lucifer was shaking his head, running a hand down his face before up into his hair to try and straighten out some of it to no avail.

“It’s fine. Really. Just…caught me off guard?” he offered. Caught him with his metaphorical pants down in fact. Sam was regarding the other with a sheepish sort of wary look, looking himself about ready to backtrack and continue on with what he had been doing before he had intruded on an archangel grooming wings. And perhaps he would have already if he wasn’t so damn curious.

He was afterall looking at an archangel, up close, wings just sort of there.

At this point, Lucifer just wanted to break whatever awkward tension this entire exchange had brought down on the room. Especially because, well, the archangel genuinely was trying to be the ‘good guy’ for lack of a better term. He had had a heart to heart with his Father, and he was running with it. He himself had apologized to Sam even before that. And well, despite the bunker being big enough for the four – five if you counted Castiel – inhabitants to go about their day without interacting, that rarely happened.

Also, the tension was making his wings fluff out a bit, which was entirely counterintuitive to what he was going for here. But it was still room temperature, so that was a good sign in terms of temper at least. 

But the hunter couldn’t tell just how far he had overstepped even with it seeming like Lucifer at least wasn’t going to turn around and lash out at him. So Sam was shifting on his feet and running a hand through his obnoxiously long, but also kind of enviable because it looked ridiculously nice, hair.

“Should I...go?” he inquired tentatively.

Lucifer blinked, opening his mouth to respond, but then closing it again, different expression – something thoughtful and wary overtaking his expression as he looked back to his wings. He delicately picked at the top of what could only be expressed as the elbow of the wing, craning his neck to glare at a spot he certainly couldn’t reach on the back of them. The archangel's wing span had to be close to thirty feet; pushing even the bounds of the space in the library.

“Actually…I could use help.” The archangel stated finally, just as tentative as the other’s previous inquiry. He was a bit unsure and spat the word help like it burned on his tongue. And in a way, it kind of did.

Sam blinked owlishly.

“Help?” he echoed.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me say it again.” he griped.

Sam couldn’t help but snort. The archangel’s wings drooped a bit, relaxing ever so slightly with the break of the tension in the room; even if he looked rather huffy. It was an amusing image for certain.

“Right.” Sam mused. “What exactly were you doing?” the hunter inquired. He had pieced together it was something to do with the wings considering it wasn’t as if Lucifer made a habit of manifesting them or whatever it was that was taking place currently. If he had to wager a guess the other was grooming them. And the image of Lucifer preening like an oversized bird nearly got another snort out of the hunter. “Besides knocking over piles of priceless books that is.” he tacked on for good measure, lips quirking up a bit. The archangel let out an indignant sound. 

“Oh please, they were stacked so precariously they would’ve fallen by themselves eventually.” Lucifer accused. 

Sam just hummed in amusement as if to say ‘yeah okay sure’. 

Lucifer huffed but turned back to the issue at hand.

“I was grooming my wings.” he started, absently carding fingers through the feathers at the front of his wings. He’d at least managed to get the fronts of them mostly done, pin feathers straightened and shiny. “It’s…tradition. One I haven’t followed in awhile, haven’t really had a chance and well, it seems like it might be now or never and I have been kind of reinducted into the Holy Army or whatever so I figured I’d straighten out the mess of the last millenia.” he continued, hands gesturing with his speech, even his wings twitched a bit as he spoke, as if to emphasize words, an entirely subconscious natural tendency but rather amusing in Sam’s opinion. Not that he’d comment. 

Regardless of being on speaking terms and of Chuck having Lucifer’s powers dampened for the moment, Sam didn’t want to deal with getting on the Devil’s bad side. Especially because, well, things between them had been rather placid over the past few weeks. Interactions were less than frequent since the talk they’d had when Sam had convinced the other to speak to his Father, but the interactions they had had certainly weren’t unpleasant. Which was…oddly nice. Turns out the Devil really wasn’t a terrible conversationalist when he wasn’t trying to destroy the planet. 

Did it mean Sam wasn’t still a bit wary? No. But something had certainly changed in the way they interacted. For the better, Sam hoped.

“Okay so you’re grooming out your...wings, where exactly do I factor in?” the Winchester inquired, one brow quirking up as he tried to reign Lucifer in from a rant and figure out just what was being asked of him here, entirely disregarding the fact that it was a favor to the Devil and maybe he really shouldn’t be that gung-ho to offer up his help. But then again, Lucifer wasn’t exactly an enemy here. Or at least they had a common enemy and there was nothing that made creatures who were fond of self-preservation work together like mutually assured destruction.

Lucifer swallowed thickly, shifting on his feet slightly as he fiddled with one of his wings. Ah, there was that fluffing out of plumage again. He smoothed some of it down.

“As you’ve probably noticed, my wingspan is...impressive. And this vessel doesn’t have abnormally long arms.” he started, and Sam attempted to follow.

“You need help with the grooming?” he determined at last, not sure whether this was the archangel asking for a back scratch or something entirely more intimate considering how the other seemed to be more flustered by the moment. And that was saying something, considering he didn’t think flustered was even an emotion the Devil could express until that very moment.

For Lucifer it was yes, a little regarding the intimacy of essentially asking Sam - a human no less - to get handsy with his wings. But mostly it was the whole asking another living creature for help thing. 

Lucifer did not ask for help. 

Then again, until just a few days ago Lucifer didn’t apologize. 

The fact that both these incidents had the common denominator of Sam Winchester was something the archangel was going to choose to not look too hard at.  
“You could say that I’m in need of a second set of hands - preferably not attached to the body I’m currently inhabiting - to reach some hard to reach tangles in my wing feathers, yes.” he nodded, crossing his arms in front of him and regarding the other with an expectant sort of expression. 

And then he was shifting, albeit far more carefully than before - he didn’t want to knock anything else over (especially because it wasn’t exactly fun knocking into things with his wings) - to show Sam just how bad the back of his wings were. And okay, maybe the glare he shot the other over shoulder, just daring Sam to say some biting remark about how bad they honestly looked, was burning with bitterness of vulnerability. 

Defensiveness.

Sam for his part was taking in just how bad the wings looked indeed. They looked uncomfortable. And while it may not be the same thing in any respect he couldn’t help but card a hand through his own hair, imagining how bad the snarls in the archangel’s wings probably felt. 

“Yeah...okay, why don’t you sit down.” he nodded. Because okay yeah, Sam could help with this. He was going to help with this. It just, was looking like a rather time consuming job.

Lucifer blinked, as if he had half expected Sam to have outright refused to do such a thing, or had expected some reaction of disgust. Not...whatever it was he was currently being met with. But it was enough to have him making a sound of hesitant agreement and slowly taking a seat in a nearby chair. 

He shifted as Sam approached, craning his neck to regard the other and what the other was doing because as much as he asked for help and knew that out of everyone he could have asked to help Sam was probably the least likely to try and pluck him bare or shiv him with an angel blade, the instinct to be wary of who was at your back was still there. Especially with his wings manifest. 

Speaking of wings, he was slowly arching them, making sure he was holding them at an angle that would allow the Winchester best access to the ridiculous amount of tangles the archangel feel himself couldn’t reach.

“Well. Stop gawking and get to it would you?” he huffed, keeping his arms crossed as he shifted a bit in his seat. 

No matter the bluff of haughty toned voice, the way his wings fluffed out gave his anxieties away. Something Sam was taking note of with interest, as anyone should if they found a crack in the Devil’s poker face. And so he was deciding to play along, keep the mood light. Nobody wanted to pregame for the ultimate fight by infighting, and the way Lucifer’s wings were couldn’t be comfortable, and so Sam did genuinely want to help here. He didn’t mind. And perhaps it was also because when else would he get a chance to be this up close and personal with the wings of an angel? An archangel nonetheless, even if said archangel was Lucifer. 

“I can’t help it, they're very...” the Winchester trailed off, trying to figure out a proper word to describe just how he felt, still processing the wings, as he carefully placed a hand onto the arch of one. 

Lucifer did his best not to flinch or draw back on instinct. It had been a long time since someone else had their hands in his wings after all. 

“Messed up, lackluster, scarred, tangled...fitting?” the archangel snapped dryly, sullenly listing adjectives that had been nowhere near the descriptors running through Sam’s mind.

And that comment drew the other back to reality even if, wow okay the feathers were amazingly soft as well. The hunter hummed for a moment, feeling the tension in the archangel’s shoulders just by the flex of the wings. And okay then, that was a bit elucidating.

“I was thinking more like amazing? They’re kind of...epic? You have what, a twenty five foot wingspan?” he stated. It would be a crime to lie about how cool they were, and not just in the sense that the more he pressed his fingers into the wings the more physically cold his hands were, and yeah okay that was going to hurt after awhile if he was being entirely honest. 

“Thirty foot, in this plane of existence anyhow.” Lucifer corrected, tongue in cheek, chin tucking up a bit. 

“I think fitting could be a good word too.” he nodded, head tilting slightly in thought as he started to work at one of the tangles closest to him, almost absentmindedly but mindful enough to keep his movements careful and the detangling process soft enough not to cause any real pain. 

Lucifer rolled his shoulders slightly, humming lowly at that statement, processing it, still tense, but unable to stay that way entirely as Sam began working at untangling things. He glared at the other over his shoulder as if to say ‘explain what you mean by that and there is a wrong answer’. 

Sam huffed. 

“The color.” he offered, as if it should be entirely obvious. According to the pressing look the other was giving him it wasn’t nearly as obvious as he thought. “It’s just, I think it’s fitting for someone called the Morning Star, someone called Light Bearer. They remind me a bit of the color the sky is in the morning when the sun first comes up.” he tried to explain, trying not to put his foot in his mouth as he did so.

Lucifer blinked, quickly turning his face away at that one, fingers tapping at the edges of the chair he was seated on as he pursed his lips. Because okay, that was unexpected.

“I used to outshine myriads with these, Sam, just ask my Dad.” he mused, though it was far from the most pleasant tone of voice. 

“I can imagine, they’re very...iridescent.” the hunter acknowledged, moving on to the next tangle, fingers delicately brushing the feathers of the previous tangle into proper place. And yeah that was the word he was going for because sparkly was too dangerous even if Lucifer was divinely banned from too terrible of a retaliation as things stood. 

“They’re not nearly as bright as they used to be.” he admitted, shaking his head. No. A millenia left to rot in a cage in the pit of Hell after being hurled headlong from his Heavenly home? Well, that sort of experience left his wings dull, a mere fraction of the beauty they used to hold reflected in what they currently displayed, and reeking of sulphur until just recently. That had been his first prerogative upon being topside once more. He couldn’t stand the smell. 

Sam simply shook his head. “They’re still impressive, Lucifer.” he stated seriously. And he believed it. Even with the scarring and the snarls, and the amount of general wear and tear the wings had clearly been through they were still wings. Wings of one of the first winged creatures to ever exist in fact, and regardless of where they stood - which wasn’t entirely clear even currently - it would be a lie to say that they were anything less than kind of incredible. Even if they were attached to the back of the Devil himself. 

Lucifer simply made an unimpressed sound of acknowledgement, but said nothing to deny it at least. 

The two of them fell into silence for a bit then; Sam simply working his hands through the archangel’s wings, brushing away snarls and straightening feathers into their proper place. As he went, the tension in the archangel's shoulders had pretty much disappeared, Lucifer actually seeming relaxed for the first time in - well, Sam wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever seen the other relaxed - as usually the archangel was all coiled irritation and witty sarcasm. Currently he looked rather content and complacent if the Winchester didn’t know any better. 

To say the archangel was content wouldn’t be a lie. It felt damn good to have knots from several centuries ago untangled, and not just because it made him a bit happier with the state of his wings, but because he hadn’t even realized how irritating the snarls in his wings were until they were being set right again. Literal eons of tension he didn’t know his wings were dealing with was being taken care of. And so if he had slumped a bit in the chair, and let his eyes flutter shut, he couldn’t possibly be blamed. 

If archangels could purr, Lucifer would probably be doing so currently. 

Sam only wished his hands could handle the wings a bit better than they currently were holding up. Because they hurt. Like keeping your hands in a bucket of ice hurt. Lucifer really did burn cold, and his wings were no exception, and Sam had had his fingers buried in the other’s feathers for nearly an hour at that point. They were sort of past the point of numbness and approaching the point of aching. Could he get frostbite from grooming angel wings? He didn’t care to find out. So he was finishing up what he was doing, running fingers over the entire appendages best he could one last time, and then he was standing back.

“Hmm?” Lucifer sighed, blinking in an almost sleepy manner as he registered the distinct lack of hands in his wing feathers. He shifted some, rolling shoulders and moving each wing, stretching and fanning them out as he tested how they felt. “If the whole hunting thing doesn’t work out I think a position just opened up for wing grooming assistant.” he mused, lips qurking up to show a sliver of teeth as he looked back to the Winchester with a heavy lidded look, resembling the cat that got the canary. 

And he was only half joking with that remark, the closest thing to a compliment Lucifer was willing to give. Really, he was rather happy with how the wings turned out. But then he was registering that something was a bit off with the other, what with the way the Winchester was rubbing at his hands and ah, yeah, humans usually didn’t have a tint of blue to their mouths. His amused grin faltered. 

“Say, you look a bit like a human popsicle.” the archangel observed slowly, brows raising. 

And yeah, yeah Sam did look half frozen didn’t he. He was on the verge of shivering in fact which, okay, maybe humans could get hypothermia from this sort of stuff then. 

“I kind of can’t feel my hands.” the Winchester cringed. 

Ah, right, humans were delicate when it came to temperatures and Lucifer’s wings were thirty two degrees at best, certainly colder the further one went into the plumage. Iridescent and icy. Lucifer shifted, carefully, turning around to sit backwards in the chair to fully regard the Winchester then. And yeah, the others hands were pretty bad, nearly blistering from the cold in fact. 

The archangel tilted his head before a wicked smirk creeped up on his lips, and it was that smirk that should've had Sam stepping back out of reach, because whatever was crossing the archangel’s mind with an expression like that couldn’t be the best of things. But it was too late because the archangel was snagging both of Sam’s hands at the wrist and pulling the other towards him which resulted in the hunter making a less than graceful sound and nearly panicking. 

But then there were lips brushing over his knuckles and suddenly his hands didn’t feel so raw. Any color he had lost from his lips was probably restored with just how on fire his face had suddenly become. 

Because had the Devil just seriously kissed his boo-boos better? 

Lucifer was looking up at him with a ridiculously large grin, even as he had already released the other’s hands. 

“Too bad there’s not a mirror in here, you should see the look on your face, absolutely priceless.” the archangel laughed, leaning on the back of the chair a bit as if he was going to double over. This only served to deepen the shade of red Sam’s cheeks had turned. 

“You’re an absolute menace, you overgrown bird.” he huffed, reaching out and more or less giving a handful of feathers a tug in retaliation for the commentary and antics on the archangel’s part. Mind you, it wasn’t anything near enough of a tug to hurt. 

It had Lucifer squawking nonetheless. 

Which had Sam laughing. 

The archangel regarded him with a petulant look of distaste, feathers puffing up just a little bit with his indignancy at being referred to as a bird. Menace? Yeah okay he’d take it. But an overgrown bird? He was nothing of the sort. And okay, perhaps part of that indignancy came from the sound that had just come out of his own mouth.

Because archangel’s so did not squawk. 

“Hey now, watch the name calling and the manhandling.” he rolled his eyes, nearly pouting as he straightened back out the feathers the other had slightly displaced with the tugging. The Winchester rolled his eyes. 

“Oh please, don’t get your feathers in a bunch.” he dismissed, which, yeah, was a little less than metaphorical here. 

Lucifer just glared. 

“Anyhow, Before all this I was trying to at least get some coffee, so if you don’t mind I’m going to…” the hunter trailed off, gesturing towards the door. Lucifer huffed out a sigh, nodding. 

“Yeah yeah, go on your merry way and get your sustenance or whatever it is people call it these days.” the archangel dismissed blandly, waving his hand.  
“Breakfast, Lucifer, they call it breakfast.” Sam deadpanned. 

The archangel rolled his eyes but said nothing more as the other left the room. He did however weigh an idea back and forth for a few moments before he was snapping his fingers. 

And if Sam happened to find that someone perhaps had brewed fresh coffee very recently in the kitchen, well, then it certainly had nothing to do with the fact that Lucifer was genuinely thankful for the help or that the other really did still look like he needed to warm up.


End file.
